


The Heart Is Hard To Translate

by astheykissconsume



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, valentine's day fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:44:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astheykissconsume/pseuds/astheykissconsume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Jim can protest, he leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips, gentler than their usual kisses, and chaste. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jim,” he murmurs, and against all the odds, Jim smiles back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart Is Hard To Translate

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Valentine's day last year. Shameless MorMor fluff.

Valentine’s Day.

It’s not something Sebastian has ever really bought into before. Ever year it comes and goes; the shops fade from the red and green of Christmas to pinks and purples, love hearts and teddy bears and roses spilling from shelves, sickly sweet messages splashed out everywhere you look.  _I love you. Be mine?_ Sebastian watches from his position on a rooftop, laid out on his stomach with his rifle set up on a tripod. The high street he’s looking out across is bursting with Valentine’s Day. Love hearts everywhere. Sebastian wrinkles his nose a little, distasteful. He imagines Jim’s reaction if Sebastian suddenly produced a bouquet of roses with a  _love always_ tag, and grins to himself. It would almost be worth it, just to see the incredulous expression on his face.

His target comes out of the train station (late forties, greying hair, perspiring even though it’s only February and the air is chilly). Sebastian lines up his shot, movements steady and practised. It’s second nature to him. He takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of the gun underneath his hands, and the sight of the target, oblivious as they always are to the threat looking directly at them – and then he fires, one shot, muffled by the silencer and dead on centre, literally. The man crumples, and nobody notices for a few moments. People are always so wrapped up in their own lives. Sebastian doesn’t bother to watch as the realisation and then the panic sets in, chaos erupting on the preciously peaceful high street. He’s seen it all before. He packs up efficiently and makes his way down the fire exit, thumbing out a text to Jim as he goes. He’ll be gone by the time anyone realises where the shot came from.

-

It’s a stupid idea.

It’s a really, really stupid idea. Phenomenally ridiculous. It’s probably a death sentence in itself.

Sebastian sighs, and opens his laptop. (He used to use Jim’s, until the fateful day when Jim caught him playing Bubble Shooter and was so outraged at  _his_  laptop being used for such a menial task that he bought Sebastian a laptop and probably password protected everything on his own multiple times, just to be sure. It wasn’t even the laptop he uses for work. Drama queen.) Sebastian stares blankly at the search engine, wondering why he’s even doing this; he has no idea what he’s actually looking for, and no idea how to go about it. To be perfectly honest, he’s not even one hundred percent sure Jim won’t lose it and have him killed in righteous temper for so much as contemplating it.

To hell with it. He can deal with Jim if this goes badly. Sebastian pauses, then types  _ideas for valentine’s day presents_ into Google.

The immediate search brings up an array of girly gifts which he  _is_ sure would result in his immediate execution if he even considered them. Or at least a ban from the bedroom for an untold number of weeks. Sebastian amends the search to  _valentine’s day presents for him_ and then begins to scroll down the page, taking a moment to wonder at the irony of his situation. He feels a bit scared, as though Jim is watching him over his shoulder. Sebastian has lost count of the times he's been outnumbered men often bigger than himself in protecting Jim, and remained unafraid, but now, searching for valentine’s gifts for James Moriarty, he feels a thrill of fear. He rolls his eyes, pushing it aside with an effort, and focuses on his task.

It doesn’t take long for him to close the laptop with a defeated expression. There is nothing there suitable for Jim. Nothing at all. He can’t say he’s surprised, really – Jim isn’t ordinary, he’s far from it, and that’s exactly why Sebastian… is with him.

He leans back against the chair, letting his eyes close and thinking. There’s still every chance that this is a horrendous idea, but… he wants to do something. One little sign to show Jim… well. Show Jim what? That he’s appreciative of their relationship? Jim would probably wet himself laughing if he told him that. But still, he has to do  _something_. Sebastian knows, realistically, that he is reasonably safe from Jim’s whims and rages; Jim often loses his temper with him, yeah, but not with the cold, icy fury which inevitably results in someone – or many people, quite possibly entirely unrelated from whatever made him angry in the first place – dropping dead. No, Jim won’t hurt him. Much. Sebastian opens his eyes and smiles slightly. He has an idea.

-

“Seb, just tell me. Where are we going?” Jim grumbles. He’d raised an eyebrow when Sebastian had told him that he’d called for a car to pick their pair of them up, but had seemed willing enough to go along with whatever he had planned. He’d even asked him – coquettishly, with that little smirk which Sebastian regards with a mixture of fondness and annoyance – what he should wear, and nodded when he’d been told to dress down for the occasion. Jim’s question of ‘and the occasion  _is_?’ had been met with a slight smile and a ‘you’ll find out soon enough’. He seemed to be in a decent enough mood, though Sebastian could tell he was growing impatient as their destination remained unknown.

“I told you, you’ll find out.” Sebastian recognises a tell-tale frown building on Jim’s brow and reaches across the seat to catch Jim’s hand in his own. He squeezes it. “Humour me, yeah? Not long now.”

Jim glances at him with an arched eyebrow, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, so Sebastian counts it as a win. The remainder of the journey doesn’t take long, and after ten minutes or so the car (sleek, black, expensive but discreet) pulls up by the pavement. Jim is alternating between looking out of the window and watching Sebastian, waiting for an explanation. Sebastian makes him wait a little longer, sliding out of the car and pausing as Jim joins him.

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve brought me to Regent’s Park?” Jim asks him. He sounds mildly bored, but Sebastian knows him; the boredom is deliberate, covering up genuine curiosity.

Sebastian nods, and begins walking. Jim keeps up with him by his side. It’s a nice day; a little crisp, still, but there’s weak sunshine and the sky is clear. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Of course I know what day it is,” Jim responds, frowning. “It’s the fourteenth of February.”

Sebastian resists the urge to roll his eyes. “And the fourteenth of February is…?” he encourages.

He can see the recognition in Jim’s eyes, quickly followed by vague alarm, as though he expects Sebastian to suddenly pick him up and spin him around in a slow dance to some conveniently timed Franks Sinatra. “No,” Jim says flatly. “I refuse to believe you are actually doing th - ”

“Give it a rest, would you?” Sebastian does roll his eyes this time, rounding a corner with Jim beside him. The orders he’d given have been followed perfectly; there’s a black blanket set out on the grass, with a hamper and a bottle of wine in ice. A glance at Jim’s face confirms that he looks more alarmed than ever, so Sebastian turns and takes hold of his shoulders. “Jim. Look at me. I wanted to do something nice, alright? I’m not going to get down on one knee with a rose between my teeth, don’t look so horrified.” He exerts slight pressure on Jim’s shoulders to guide him over to the blanket and sit him down. “I even specified that the blanket had to be black so that you could take comfort in your evil mastermind status and bask in the darkness, or whatever.”

“Bask in the darkness,” Jim repeats, incredulous, but there’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth which could be a smile. Sebastian returns it, affectionate.

He sits down too, opening the hamper. “You can never claim that I don’t take notice of what food you actually like ever again,” he tells Jim, half distracted by the contents of the hamper. He passes Jim something wrapped meticulously in foil. “Smells like chicken, must be yours.” Sebastian begins to take everything out, including two wine glasses, which he sets in front of them. Once he’s finished, he looks at Jim again. “I know you like to spend obscene amounts of money at pretentious restaurants, but this is my thing, okay? I’m doing something nice for you – for us – and I’m doing it my way.”

Jim does smile this time, slightly reluctantly, but nonetheless there. He doesn’t argue with the picnic, though he almost pouts at the slight against the restaurants. “They’re not  _pretentious_ ,” he mutters, unwrapping the food Sebastian had given him. It is chicken, as Sebastian had thought. It’s one of the few foods that Jim will eat without complaint, so he makes a habit of trying to cook it as often as possible.

“They are pretentious and you know it,” Sebastian says, pouring them both a glass of wine. “That’s why you like them. They give you tiny little portions of tasteless food, and then proclaim their magnificence to the world.”

“You have no appreciation of fine dining,” Jim responds loftily, though he seems content enough where he is. Sebastian glances at him as he eats, half smiling to himself. Jim barely relaxes; it’s nice to see him like this, calm, his shoulders lacking their usual tension. He’s wearing obnoxiously expensive black jeans which Sebastian appreciates all the same, and a gunmetal grey shirt open at his neck. It’s Jim’s way of compromising – he’d refused to wear a t-shirt, even when Sebastian had attempted to coax him into one.

“And you have more money than sense,” Sebastian mutters, but his tone is fond. He passes Jim a glass of wine, then clinks his own against it and shoots Jim an sly look. “Would you like me to give a speech?”

“I’m rather fond of the fact that you’re alive, so no,” Jim says, taking a sip of the wine. Sebastian watches him, feeling vaguely smug when Jim nods in unwilling appreciation. Jim always whines at him for drinking anything he can get his hands on, and Seb is relatively sure that Jim was under the impression that Sebastian never listened to his rants on how to find good wine. Until now, obviously.

“I do listen, you know.” Sebastian takes a bite of his own sandwich, pushing some more of the food towards Jim. He’s pleased to see Jim take some. “And fine, I’ll pass on the speech.” He pauses. “Am I allowed to say ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’?”

Jim gives him a considering look, swallowing his mouthful of food, and then nods. “I shall allow you to say it,” he says, with feigned graciousness.

Sebastian smiles. Before Jim can protest, he leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips, gentler than their usual kisses, and chaste. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jim,” he murmurs, and against all the odds, Jim smiles back.


End file.
